Chapter 20
20
A very floated to consciousness with light pressing against her eyelids. She was warm and comfortable and happy. Trace’s muscular legs were still tangled with hers, his front side curved around her backside, his strong arm pinned across her waist, holding her against him.
She forced her eyes open and looked for the clock she’d positioned on the windowsill since she couldn’t afford nightstands yet.
“It’s only six.” Trace’s voice startled her. She twisted to look over her shoulder and found him propped up by his elbow, hair tousled, eyes bright, a grin tilting his mouth.
“You look like you’ve been up awhile.” She relaxed into the pillow again and frowned. “What are you doing?”
“Watching you sleep.” His grin grew. “You talk in your sleep—you know that, right?”
“I do not.”
He laughed. “Yeah, you do.”
She turned a little more and rubbed his erection tucked against her ass. “I’m not sure I like that. What did I say?”
His hand slid back and forth over her stomach, and his hips rocked restlessly against hers, creating a familiar heat between her legs. “I don’t know. I was a little distracted.”
She wrapped her arm up and around his neck, pulling him down for a good-morning kiss. Their tongues lazily stroked, and Trace sucked at her lips, then growled a moan and pressed his face to her neck. “Warning: if you don’t get up now, you won’t be getting up for a while.”
She pushed her hips back and into his erection and murmured against his temple, “I’m good with that.”
His mouth opened against her neck with a groan of pleasure and relief. “Baby, you are such a dream.”
The hand at her stomach slid up her body, between her breasts, and cupped her chin as he took the kiss deeper.
A heavy knock at the front door downstairs jerked both of them out of the bliss. They stared at each other for a second, as if each was wondering whether they’d really heard that.
“What—?”
The knock came again, louder, followed by the deep, serious voice of someone calling Avery’s name. Alarm snaked down her spine, and Avery sat up, looking around the floor for clothes. “Shit.”
“Who in the hell is that?” Trace swung his feet off the bed and pulled on his jeans.
“I don’t know,” she said, frustrated as she followed Trace’s lead. “But I’m sick of one fire after another around here. I’d like one full night of relaxation for a damn change.”
He yanked his shirt over his head and grinned at her. “Then you’d better stop hanging around me, sugar. I have no intention of letting you relax.”
“Your brand of relaxation I’ll take any night of the week.” She ran her hands through her hair and dragged on the jeans and the T-shirt she’d had on last night before she headed downstairs in bare feet.
“I’m coming , for God’s—” She hit the bottom of the stairs and looked toward the door. Through the glass all she saw was blue. A mass of navy-blue uniforms. Cops. Four of them, standing on her porch.
Trace almost stumbled over her and caught her around the waist, managing to keep both of them from hitting the floor. “Baby, what?—?”
Rap, rap, rap. “Open the door, Avery.”
Deputy Tom Potter, a man in his late fifties who’d been a family friend for years, was surrounded by three other deputies Avery didn’t know.
Fury and embarrassment flared in a hot streak through her chest, and she started toward the door. “Austin, that piece of?—”
“Avery.” Trace’s direct tone grated on her already raw nerves, and she spun on him. His gaze had hardened into an expression she’d never seen before. “This is bigger than Austin.”
Rap, rap, rap. “Avery.”
She ignored Tom. While David had become an expert at obeying authority, Avery had discovered in all those years fending for herself, there was a time to obey and there was a time to resist. She’d also discovered that often ignoring, combatting, or avoiding authority got her a lot further than trying to go directly through it. “Trace?”
His eyes moved back to her and he nodded. “Open the door, then step aside. This isn’t about you.”
“How do you know?”
“Avery, honey,” Tom said through the glass. “Don’t make me break this brand-new door. Alice’ll have me in the doghouse for months.”
Tom’s reference to his wife and one of Avery’s best customers via Wildly Artesian melted her anger like a flame to ice. Avery continued to the door, unlocked it, and opened it a foot. “What’s this about, Tom?”
He offered her a folded group of papers. “I’m sorry, Avery. We have a warrant to search the premises.”
“For what?”
One of the other deputies pushed the door open, Tom stepped in and urged Avery aside with a gentle hand on her arm. The other three swept in, and one started calling directions.
“Step aside, sweetheart,” Tom said. ”Let us do our job and we’ll get out of here.”
“Tom—” Her threat was cut short by the sight of more deputies climbing the stairs and flooding into her shop. Deputies that included Austin. Fury exploded, wiping out any ability to think rationally, and she broke out of Tom’s hold, starting for Austin. “You piece of shit ?—”
She lunged for him but never made contact. Trace caught her around the waist with one arm and pulled her back.
“No, no, no,” Trace crooned in her ear, wrapping her in his arms and holding her tight.
She glared at Austin, who never flinched, never blinked. He didn’t look pleased or annoyed or angry. He looked blank. Like he couldn’t care less about her outburst.
“Just let them look,” Trace said. “They’ll be gone before you know it.”
“Let go.” She elbowed Trace until he released her, then turned on Tom, just this side of hysterical. “If they break or ruin one thing, Tom, one thing , I swear I will plant my ass on Holland’s desk and handcuff myself there until the city pays for it .”
“Now calm down, Avery. All my deputies have strict instructions not to damage anything and to put everything back the way they found it.”
Two deputies she didn’t recognize approached and addressed Trace. “Mr. Hutton, come over here please.”
“What?” Avery swung that direction. “Why?”
Trace put up a hand to Avery. She didn’t know if it was meant to reassure her or shut her up, but it did neither. And when she turned back to Tom to demand answers, she saw Zane climb out of a patrol car and jog toward the building.
“Thank God.” She pulled out of Tom’s grip and went to the door. “Zane,” she said before he’d even reached the porch. “Please tell me what the hell is going on.”
He put his arm around her shoulders and said, “I don’t know, but I’m going to find out.”
When they stepped back into the room, Avery froze at the sight of Trace with his hands pressed to the stainless steel countertop. His feet were spread wide, and one cop patted him down while the other stood watch. Her stomach turned icy, and in that flicker of an instant she saw her whole world shift. She imagined Trace being sent back to prison. Imagined herself as one of those women who spent their weekends in cement visitation rooms, talking to their boyfriend through glass over a phone.
“You shouldn’t be here,” Tom told Zane, drawing Avery back to the present. She turned away from Trace, now standing but still guarded by the two cops. “You’re not even supposed to be on duty for another hour.”
“You should have at least advised me,” Zane said. His blue eyes, lighter and grayer than Trace’s, were dark with anger this morning, but he softened his voice when he asked Avery, “What happened with JT?”
Avery crossed her arms over her middle, suddenly cold, dizzy, and nauseous. She felt like she’d missed a whole chunk of the conversation. “What about him?”
Tom glanced at a small notebook in his hand. “He alleges Trace was selling drugs out of this location.”
“Bullshit,” Avery bit out immediately. “JT’s pissed because he got caught breaking into the café yesterday morning. Trace had the good sense to fire him, and JT’s just trying to get revenge.”
“Did you report that break-in?” Tom asked.
“No,” she said, struggling to justify what probably looked to others like a lapse in judgment. “I came in so early, JT didn’t get a chance to take anything.”
“When’s the last time you saw JT?” Tom asked.
Avery’s head felt sluggish. “Uh...yesterday.” She tightened the cross of her arms, unable to get warm. “Before he and Trace went into Santa Rosa to pick up supplies.”
Tom pulled a photo from his pocket and showed it to Avery. JT stared back at her, with a split lip and a bruise beneath one eye. “Did he look like this then?”
Her brow tightened. “No. So what?”
Tom tucked the picture away. “So he’s saying that he and Mr. Hutton got in a fight over drug proceeds, and that’s why Trace fired him.”
Avery huffed a disgusted breath and rolled her eyes. “For God’s sake, Tom, JT just got out of prison. Trace has been a model citizen for half a dozen years. Who are you going to believe?”
“Mr. Hutton,” Tom said, “lift up your shirt.”
Avery gave Tom a where-the-hell-did-that-come-from? look, then glanced at Trace, who pulled his shirt up, exposing bruises across his abdomen.
“How’d you get those bruises, Mr. Hutton?” Tom asked.
“Jesus Christ,” Avery said, her anger bursting into the growing tension in the room. “He got those on the roof.”
Tom’s gaze cut to Avery. “Did you see him incur the injury, Avery?”
“No, but?—”
“Let’s go talk outside.” Zane cut her off and steered Avery toward the front door.
Avery resisted. “I don’t want to leave Trace?—”
“He’s a big boy,” Zane said, pushing her out the door and onto the porch. “I promise he can take care of himself.”
Outside, standing among all the police units, Avery’s mind started to fragment. News of this stupid raid or search or whatever it was would be all over town by noon. Her mind whirled around the rumors it would stir and the problems it could cause. She worried over the implications it would carry and the impact it would have on business.
Avery reached in her back pocket for her phone, but it wasn’t there. She stopped and turned toward the building again. “My phone...”
“You can’t go back in right now.”
“I just want my phone.” Her voice broke, and she pressed her fist to her forehead to keep herself together. “I want to call Delaney and Phoebe. Shit.” She dropped her hand and looked up at Zane. With a lowered voice she asked, “Does Trace need a lawyer? Should I call someone for him?”
“If they don’t find any drugs in your building, Trace won’t need a lawyer.”
“They aren’t going to find—” The ice re-formed in her gut. “Oh, shit. What if...what if JT left some there?”
“Why would he do that?”
Avery threw her arms in the air. “Shit, I don’t know.” She paced in a circle, then returned her gaze to Zane but pointed to the café, livid. “Is this JT or is this Austin? ’Cause I’ve got shit on Aus—” She sucked a breath and swiveled toward the building. “My phone.” She spun back toward Zane. “You need to get my phone. I have a picture on there that Austin doesn’t want anyone to see.”
Zane squinted toward the building, his expression stern. His phone rang, and, without taking his gaze off the café, he answered, “Yeah.”
A high-pitched, quick-speaking female sputtered on the other end of the line. Zane lowered his gaze to the ground. “Slow down, Gram, I can’t...No, he was fine when Harlan dropped him off...Well, how in the hell did he...No, I have no idea.” Zane put his free hand on his head and turned away, pacing a few steps before he stopped and heaved a sigh. “Christ, we can’t afford an emergency-room visit.”
Now Avery was caught between Zane’s drama and her own. But she could handle only one at a time, which meant she had to solve this mini-crisis within the major crisis before she’d be able to think straight.
She started back toward the café, climbed the stairs, and stepped inside. Her gaze fell on Trace where he sat in one of the dining chairs, leaning forward, elbows on knees, hands clasped, gaze on the floor. His shoulders were hunched. His jaw ticked. And Avery’s heart twisted.
“Avery,” Tom said, interrupting his conversation with another deputy, “you need to stay outside.”
Trace’s head came up, and his eyes met hers, but the man she knew didn’t live there. The man in those eyes was broken and dark. And it absolutely killed her to see such a good man unjustly dragged so far down.
She turned her gaze on Tom. “No, I don’t. Show me in the warrant where it says I have to stay outside.”
He heaved a sigh. “I’m sorry, I phrased that wrong. It would be better if you stayed outside.”
“I need my phone. It’s upstairs.”
He gestured that direction. “Go on and get it.”
When she turned and glanced at Trace, he was scrubbing his face with both hands. Then he threaded them through his hair and clasped them at the back of his neck, never lifting his eyes to hers again.
She jogged up the stairs with a fiery boulder in the pit of her stomach and tears burning her eyes. When she reached the landing and turned toward the apartment, she saw Austin looking through her dresser drawers.
Fear streaked through her chest. She may never use the picture, but she wanted it as insurance, because Delaney had proven holding insurance over Austin’s head kept him in line. And because Avery needed every little thread of power she could get right now—real or imagined—to help her feel in control.
As soon as she stepped through the unfinished doorway, Austin straightened. “You can’t be in here.”
“Yes, I can.” She stepped to the head of her bed and scanned the floor for her phone where she’d left it, but it wasn’t there. Avery crouched and looked underneath.
“Hey.” Austin closed in. “Get out of there.”
Her heart pounded in her throat, and she dropped to her knees for a better look, growing a little frantic when she didn’t see her phone. She swept her hand along the floor underneath the bed.
Austin gripped her bicep. “I said?—”
Metal touched her fingers. Avery’s eyes closed, and her breath whooshed out in relief. Austin jerked her arm, pulling her partially to her feet. She wobbled off balance, falling sideways and hitting the wall.
“Hey man,” the other cop said, frowning at Austin. “Take it easy.”
Avery straightened and pulled her arm from Austin’s grip. “That’s just his normal, everyday abusive style—isn’t it, Austin?”
His lip twitched into a sneer of a smile, and he lifted his chin to the bed and its disarray of sheets. “And this is yours. Fuckin’ the bad boys now? I tried to tell you about him.” He shook his head with that superior smirk. “Guess you turned out more like Delaney than I thought.”
His reference to Delaney’s slutty reputation as a youth sleeping with the worst of the worst to get any morsel of attention from their father struck Avery funny considering how fantastic Delaney had turned out.
She huffed a laugh, lifted the phone, and waved it. “And you turned out a lot more like our daddies.”
Austin evidently didn’t care for the comparison to Avery’s dad, an abusive drunk, or Austin’s own father, the narcissistic bully who ran Wildwood and who’d threatened Delaney in an attempt to run her out of town.
Austin’s expression went from annoyed to pissed in an instant. He came at her, and Avery braced herself, clutching her phone, but the other deputy grabbed Austin by the bulletproof vest and hauled him back a step. “Dude, cool the fuck out.” Then to Avery he said, “Ma’am, it would be better if you waited downstairs. We’re almost done here.”
“Yes, sir.” And she trotted down the steps.
At the bottom, Tom asked, “Did you get your phone?”
“Yes, thank you.” When Trace kept his hands threaded in his hair without looking up, her heart started to numb around the edges. She could only hurt so long before she started to shut down. She wandered toward the door, doing her best to ignore all the blue uniforms messing with her stuff. Before she exited, she met Tom’s gaze and said, “Not that it makes much difference, because Trace wasn’t selling drugs here, but he had those bruises the day before he even hired JT.”
“You said you didn’t see the incident that caused them,” Tom said.
“No, but I saw the bruises.”
“And when would you have had occasion to see those?”
God, she was so sick of being questioned. “We’re sleeping together ,” she said loudly, deliberately, so no one would have a question as to what she’d said or meant. “I have occasion.”
Trace swore softly, and his hands slid out of his hair to cover his face.
Avery’s chest pinched. She’d been able to push away the embarrassment over exposing her sexual habits to stand up for him. But his reaction made it wash back in on a tidal wave, creating a whirlpool of emotions. Anger vibrated in her voice when she asked, “Any other questions, Tom?”
“Not right now.”
She walked out of her café, head high, but she avoided meeting anyone’s gaze. She wasn’t strong enough to battle judgment in the face of Trace’s reaction.
At the bottom of the stairs, now confused, hurt, disillusioned, and still scared, she paused near Zane.
“Did you get it?” he asked.
“Yeah. What’s wrong at home?”
“My dad. Somewhere between the time I picked him up from Harlan’s and put him back to bed so he could sleep until Gram got there to do their regular morning routine, Dad figured out how to get past the locks and went on a walkabout—right into the construction zone three blocks away.”
For God’s sake. Avery was about to blow a gasket. “Is he okay? What happened?”
“Luckily—I don’t know how, but luckily—he came out of it with minor injuries. He’s at the ER waiting on X-rays and stitches, and Gram has a really important echocardiogram she needs to get to, so she can’t stay with him. After all you’ve already been through with our family, I hate to ask, but I’m in a real bind.”
“What do you need?”
“Would you mind going to the ER and sitting with him? Not only is he the biggest baby on the planet, but stress seems to make his memory worse. He’s going to need someone to hold his hand and remind him of what’s happening and why. I need to stay here and make sure everything stays kosher for Trace. Get him an attorney if he ends up needing one. But someone needs to be with Dad.”
All the tasks on her to-do list went to hell, and a terrifying sense of impending failure tightened her chest. At this stage of her business there were two priorities—quality and follow-through. If either of those faltered, she’d lose current customers and damage the possibility of potential customers. And when she’d spent every penny she had and was counting every dollar she earned, every customer’s opinion of her business was vital.
“Of course. Can you have Pearl come relieve me after her appointment? I’ve got a full day on my plate.”
“Absolutely.” Zane squeezed her shoulder. “Thank you so much.”
She glanced at the café, and a million nerve endings sizzled. “Would you mind getting my keys? They’re under the counter on a shelf in the kitchen. And my boots would be nice. If I go in there again, I might claw Austin’s eyes out.”
Zane broke into a grin, nodded, and headed inside.
Now, standing alone in the parking lot, barefoot, commando, and watching cops swarm her café, powerless to help Trace, her guts churned with stress and fear. And made Avery realize just how much of her heart was wrapped up in there—in both the business and the man.
A man who evidently hadn’t wanted to be pinned down as her lover. All his talk about being willing to keep their affair secret the night before to benefit her now looked more like a twisted way of pushing it under the rug for him.
Which begged the question: Why was she settling for someone who didn’t want her?
Again.